وَلَيسَ أَخاهُ بَل قتلٌ

وَلَيسَ أَخاهُ بَل قتلٌ

رَماهُ تَعَمُّداً وَخَطا

رَماهُ تَعَمُّداً وَخَطا

And he is not his brother, but a foe,

It was no accident, but murder plain

It was not akin to error, but rather murder,

who shot at him deliberately—and erred.

He shot his brother with intent and aim

He shot him with intent, yet called it a mistake.

فَأَحزَنَني وَقَد يَكفي

فَأَحزَنَني وَقَد يَكفي

نيَ الشَيبُ الَّذي وَخطا

نيَ الشَيبُ الَّذي وَخطا

So he grieved me, though sufficient

And it fills me with grief, as old age came

It brought me sorrow, though sufficient for me

for me is the gray hair that has streaked my head.

Marked by silver threads that wildly claim

Is the grey hair that has streaked my head.